


Assorted Potter rarepair drabbles & ficlets: darkfic

by Lokifan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-08-03
Updated: 2010-07-12
Packaged: 2019-05-09 04:05:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokifan/pseuds/Lokifan
Summary: See title, really. "Darkfic" here includes angst & horror, but also consensual incest, and non-con & dub-con erotica. There are specific warnings on the different ficlets.





	1. Black sisters: Reasons To Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bellatrix smiles often: a too-wide slash of red on her pale face that unnerves people."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the current femslash100 challenge, "smile".

Bellatrix smiles often: a too-wide slash of red on her pale face that unnerves people. The smile turns vicious when she fucks Andromeda, dark eyes narrowing even as her lips stretch behind the frizz of wild black hair.

Narcissa rarely smiles. She communicates with arched eyebrows, approving nods; presses of her lips or fingertips. When she fucks Andromeda, her pouting lips draw back into a snarl. Afterwards, Narcissa gives a smile as wide and uncomplicated as her sprawl when she collapses beside her sister.

Andromeda’s smile is enigmatic. The middle child, keeper of secrets, always has a reason to smile.


	2. Narcissa/Kingsley: Love Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa hates the Aurors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for a drabble-a-thon, for arobynsung, who requested "Kingsley/Narcissa, a bit of power".

Narcissa hates the Aurors. The thought of them makes her mouth taste metallic, like she's dreaming of biting down; her stomach twists and her chest aches with the bitter heat of it.

She follows Kingsley through the manor as he searches each room for ways to keep Lucius in prison. His eyes rove over love letters, and Narcissa feels abraded. She wants to hex and curse and kick him.

She wants Lucius back.

She cannot have any of these things. But she can take back some control from the rapacious hands of the Aurors.

The next time Kingsley visits, she leans languidly in doorways, throws her head back as she laughs, trails her fingertips over his sleeve. He’d have to be stupid not to be suspicious, but suspicion can’t overwhelm the way she plays her fingernails along the bust of her robes.

He fucks her on Lucius’ desk, his hard cock thumping inside her, his kisses insistent. It’s been months, and Kingsley nibbles her earlobe just right.

Her letter to him isn’t blackmail after all, but an invitation to return.

It isn’t infidelity; Narcissa can play a long game.


	3. Percy/Draco: Corruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco’s in Azkaban. Percy likes to feel powerful. Content: implied non-con & dub-con (coercion), groping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for Sorting Hat Drabbles; the pairing was ‘Percy Weasley/Death Eater’ and the prompt was ‘piercing’. Cutting this to the required wordcount killed me!

Percy re-entered the Ministry after Voldemort’s defeat, sick of sitting in the Burrow and listening to the others give watery laughs at memories of Fred he didn’t share. He was a bad brother, but he was a brilliant administrator; and in the chaos of a post-Voldemort Ministry, Percy’s skills made him worth his weight in gold.

Percy requested a transfer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after Ron failed the Auror entrance exams. There was nothing like the moment when he announced it. His family’s congratulations were all the sweeter for being insincere.

The best part was meeting his father’s eyes over the fuzz of Mum’s hair as she hugged him. His father was forced to recognise being an ombudsman as an honourable, Gryffindor job he should respect. It was like his, only better-paid. His expression said quite clearly that he knew what Percy was doing.

Percy smiled.

In that moment, Percy stopped needing the praise of his superiors. He cherished this new idea that there was a bigger rush than the praise: knowing you’d won. It didn’t matter if only your victim knew it.

It was a matter of timing, ultimately. Two weeks after Percy’s epiphany, he was told to inspect Azkaban. He would be making regular inspections, to ensure the humane treatment of prisoners.

Draco Malfoy shared his cell with the Lestrange brothers and Gerard Newett, another former Death Eater. All three were in the communal area when Percy came to visit; Percy wasn’t bothered. Malfoy lay huddled in the corner of his bottom bunk, a rumpled, dark little mass like abandoned laundry.

“Malfoy. I’m here to help you.”

No reply.

“I need to know if anyone’s been treating you badly.”

A snort, but no other response. The frustrated humiliation of the way this boy had refused to obey him back at Hogwarts – even though he was a _prefect_ \-- came back, and Percy’s lips tightened.

He nodded at the guards. “Stand him up and strip him.”

A cry from Malfoy, high and desperate. He moved now, scrabbling to get away. He was fast, but there was nowhere for him to run. A guard held him still, arms wrapped round the slim body like hoops round a barrel, as the other aimed his wand.

Malfoy went limp, with a long, low groan, when he was stripped. Percy stood, frozen, as he saw: the fingerprint bruises on the slim hips, the bitemark on his collarbone. The nipple rings, shining a piercing silver in the mucky gloom.

He reached out and tugged one piercing, unable to help himself. Malfoy groaned through his teeth and squirmed, his thighs shifting to hide the start of an erection.

Percy grinned at him. “I’m having you moved immediately to a single cell, you poor thing.” Another tug on the piercing defiling that aristocratic body, watching the arch of the slim back, the growing, humiliated flush. “It will all be fine. I’ll keep an eye on you.”


	4. Remus/Regulus, Remus/Sirius: Negative Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wandering the school in the aftermath of the prank, Remus finds Regulus. Underage warning - Regulus is 14/15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for this week’s Sorting Hat Drabbles; the pairing was _Regulus/Marauder_ and the prompt was _absent._

Regulus walked in on Remus and Sirius once. They’d only been kissing – but it wasn’t really _only_ , because Sirius kissed with his whole body and Remus with all the repressed force of the wolf.

Regulus was scarlet, and he could hardly look at Sirius as he handed him a letter (pecking couldn’t make Sirius accept an envelope from the family owls). Remus had caught his eye as he left for one mortifying moment, and he’d thought he’d seen rage there. But he’d never said a word.

Seemed Regulus was more trustworthy than his brother.

Remus had woken that morning to a changed world. _Snape knew._ Crippling, physical terror seized him, his already aching joints clenching and twisting round themselves in fear. Hours later, he was still aching with the knowledge of Sirius’ betrayal.

Remus paced the corridors, fear and fury writhing inside him. Then he caught sight of someone up ahead, lurking in the shadows. Someone with Sirius’ quick-moving grey eyes, wild black hair, lush mouth.

The wariness in Regulus’ gaze, as he eyed Remus from a careful distance, was nothing like the eager, half-predatory look in Sirius’. Regulus looked like prey, and Remus’ body was pulsating at every second heartbeat.

He pounced, caught Regulus, seized that soft mouth for himself. Regulus flinched and struggled a little in his grip – but the rabbits did that too, and they never escaped.

Remus dragged him into an empty classroom and bore him to the dust. Regulus kissed him back now, his legs parting easily; he didn’t seem to know he was doing it, and he flushed childishly at Remus’ experienced hand on his cock. Remus unzipped Regulus’ trousers and lowered them for him, roving eyes looking him over.

Sirius was an obscene ghost: a lack made solid, peering from the corner of Remus’ eye as he took in Regulus’ visible ribs and eager cock. Even here, Sirius was inescapable: an absence who was as much a presence as the rocking bodies there. Infuriating! Remus took it out on Regulus: not giving him as much preparation as a virgin needed, forcing his cock inside the too-small body, his hips thumping relentlessly against Regulus’ arse as he took him. Regulus was flushed and sweating; Remus bit his neck, tasted salt.

Bloody, _bloody_ Sirius. Remus didn’t even know who the victim was of this revenge.


	5. Someone Should Introduce Him To Placebo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Scorpius Malfoy knew he was different. The rest of his year – the rest of his _school_ \- was insufferably teenage." Content notes: teacher/student, predatory older man, implied sexism, affectionate mockery of a certain kind of teenager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written for Sorting Hat Drabbles. The pairing was _Harry/Scorpius_ , and the pairing was _Hay en mi corazón furias y penas (In my heart there are furies and sorrows)... – Quevedo._

Scorpius Malfoy knew he was different. The rest of his year – the rest of his school -- was insufferably _teenage_. They cared about nothing but Quidditch, and who was going out with who, and stupid, juvenile practical jokes in which salamanders exploded, and everybody thought it was a hilarious use of a Weasley firework instead of horrible abuse of an animal.

But Scorpius wasn't like that. He listened to music intently, and found personal meaning in each of the songs. He contemplated his soul. He read poetry _in the original Spanish._ He'd sit in one of the darker corners with a slim, enigmatic paperback, and watch the others scornfully over the top of it.

Once, Anastasia Stroud had come over, and asked him what he was reading. Her voice was light and sweet - like the cakes Scorpius' mother served at her soirees. They were lovely, but melted away on your tongue into nothing.

Scorpius gave her a severe look. “I’m reading Quevedo. It needs concentration.” He stared ferociously down at the print until she drifted sadly away.

At the beginning of Scorpius’ seventh year, Harry Potter became Hogwarts’ Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Scorpius’ father had had him driven from his Auror post after certain facts (which Scorpius didn’t know, despite efforts to find out) about his private life had come out.

Scorpius would generally have scorned to be interested in any celebrity who elicited a fascination as light and fluffy as popcorn from his classmates. But Potter was interesting; he had some dark secret that had forced him out of a job he loved, to hide in Scotland. He had a dark past, had lost people, had a thousand-yard stare that only emphasised the deep colour of his green eyes. And Scorpius’ father would vastly disapprove, which only made him more appealing.

So after their second lesson – a lesson full of meaningful eye contact, although Scorpius wasn’t quite sure what the meaning _was_ \-- Scorpius approached him and asked for private help with his Patronus. “I find it hard to sustain happy thoughts for so long,” he explained, and hoped Professor Potter was intrigued.

Apparently so; because after a silent moment, where Potter looked rather startled, he seemed to come to some decision. He smiled slowly, and put a warm hand on Scorpius’ shoulder, massaging slightly. “I’d be happy to.”

Shuddering on Harry’s cock later that night, aching but blissful in his loss of virginity, Scorpius knew he’d finally found someone who understood that he was an adult.


	6. Pansy/Hermione: Mistress of the Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hermione stood behind her as Pansy sat at her desk, and murmured in her ear: innocuous words designed to pluck at memories, as though Pansy were an instrument to quiver under Hermione’s fingers." Content: dark!Hermione, mindfuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the femslash100 prompt, "memories".

Occasionally, Hermione made excuses to go and see Pansy Parkinson in the Auror department. It was easy: they’d collaborated once, on one of Hermione’s Unspeakable projects.

The work was frustrating, and made Hermione feel helpless. She should have been a master of the universe.

When she couldn’t stand it any more, she went to Pansy. Hermione stood behind her as Pansy sat at her desk, and murmured in her ear: innocuous words designed to pluck at memories, as though Pansy were an instrument to quiver under Hermione’s fingers.

“It’s good to see you again… Yes, that’s just right… let’s do that again, shall we?... Don’t worry… I know best in this, I think… It’s _wonderful_ to see you like this…”

Pansy’s dark eyes would go soft, dazed; her lips ripe and parted in confusion; her forehead wrinkled, her head cocked as if she were trying to recall a song she’d heard a long time ago.

Hermione always stopped herself in time: pulled back, so the walls of the spell remained standing. But she kept going further. Soon, Hermione’s pushing at what Pansy could not remember would bring the walls tumbling down.

No matter. Obliviation could always be re-applied.


	7. Pansy/Luna, Pansy/Neville: Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He was a shy schoolboy, and she had a strong stomach." Luna’s been captured, and Pansy will do anything necessary to keep abreast of what’s happening to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for Sorting Hat Drabbles; the pairing given was Neville/Pansy, and the prompt was a line from Pablo Neruda: _I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too._

Draco told her the first day back. “Loony Lovegood’s been captured. She’s in our dungeon.”

He was corpse-coloured, his mouth twisting as he forced the words out.

Pansy turned away so that she wouldn’t curse him. Wouldn’t scream and shatter and break him for daring to look half-dead with fear and guilt when Luna was chained in his home, at the dubious mercies of Bellatrix Lestrange.

 

The school ate in almost dead silence now, as the DA glared at the teachers and the Slytherins kept their eyes on their plates. Neville Longbottom always smiled to keep up morale. As if a happy face would protect you from a punch.

Tonight, the mouth he usually stretched into a repulsively false smile was a tight line, and his eyes were dark. Beside him, Ginny Weasley’s pretty face was contorted into a deep scowl.

What was she scowling for? Ginny hadn’t seen Luna sweat-covered, flanks heaving like a hard-ridden horse. Hadn’t seen the shockingly adult smile Luna bestowed on her partners after sex. Pansy’s thighs clenched at the memory.

The knowledge of Luna’s peril ate at her. Her friends in the dorm were all too busy with their own nightmares to ask what visions made Pansy scream, and she was grateful. It made it easier for her to slip away and find Longbottom.

She ran through the possibilities with barely controlled speed. How would she get Longbottom to reply honestly? Get all the information she could from him, empty his mind of every little scrap of rumour and innuendo he had about Luna?

She could have done that to Draco. But they’d bumped into each other back in sixth year, both sneaking back from their separate secrets. Pansy had been wearing Luna’s earrings.

He’d never said a word, and Pansy owed him for that.

Longbottom was easy. Pansy had expected more of a fight from a wartime leader like him; but he was a shy schoolboy, and she had a strong stomach.

Pansy did what was necessary, being frightened and tough by turns, giving him warm, wet emotions that he gave into easily. Neville never seemed to wonder why Pansy only asked for Malfoy Manor secrets, and one night in April, he told her he loved her.

Pansy stared back at him, her stomach twisting. He was brave, and sweet, and she couldn’t reply.

Three days later, the news came: Luna had escaped.

Neville turned to her, his brown eyes richly coloured and soft as a bruise. “You’ll be going to her, then.”

Pansy felt suddenly sick.


	8. Rabastan/Draco: Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rabastan looked at Draco in ways that made him flush with shame, but it took months before he grabbed him. Content: groping, implied non-con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was for a drabble-a-thon; serilla requested "Rabastan/Draco, waiting".

Rabastan looked at Draco in ways that made him flush with shame, made crude comments about his mouth, touched him in fleeting, subtle ways – a hand stroking over his shoulder, a brief pinch of his arse – that sent Draco fleeing.

But it took months before he grabbed him. He dragged Draco backwards through the Manor’s corridors while Draco whimpered and wriggled and gave thin, whining screams. But he didn’t have his wand and Rabastan barely seemed to notice his struggles.

Draco was swung round by Rabastan’s grip on his nape and pushed into the parlour.

Rabastan let go and sat back on the sofa, his arms spread. He smiled. His filthy eyes were devouring Draco; Draco wanted to hide. He couldn’t move.

“Now, why don’t you show me what you’ve got under your robes?”

“I – I – ”

“Or we could have another kind of fun...” An index finger stroking along his wand was all it took.

Draco struggled out of his clothes. He couldn’t stop himself from cupping his hands over his groin, to hide himself.

“Touching yourself already? Charming. Come here.”

Draco straddled Rabastan’s lap, choking back a sob, and waited.


	9. Rabastan/Draco: Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco’s helpless and terrified. Rabastan has a knife. Content: knifeplay, implied non-con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for melusinahp, who requested "Rabastan/Draco, blade" on a drabble meme, and for deathlydragon, who seconded it.

Rabastan ran the flat of the blade down Draco’s cheekbone. He shuddered, turning his face away from the cold metal. Rabastan reached down and took hold of his hair. “Stay still.”

The shackles clinked as the boy shuddered. Lust squirmed in Rabastan’s stomach.

He ran the knife down Draco’s cheek again: not the flat this time. A thin cut opened up along the length of his right cheek, blood pooling quickly.

The boy whimpered. He was shaking, his eyes clenched shut. His body was taut with the effort of not pulling away, not fighting with all he had.

Rabastan smiled.

~*~

Malfoy was flat on his back on a sarcophagus. Despoiling him in the Malfoy mausoleum, the house of his cowardly, two-faced fathers, had been too much for Rabastan to resist.

He laid the tip of the knife very gently in the hollow of Draco’s throat. Draco’s eyes sprung open again, near-panic.

The terror there was exquisite.

The boy knew that to fight would bring down terror on his parents, so he held still. Rabastan had a nasty idea, and picking up his wand in his other hand, he waved it. The shackles fell away, leaving Malfoy free.

“Now hold still.”

~*~

Malfoy was trembling harder than ever, but he couldn’t leave. Watching him hold himself there through sheer force of will made Rabastan’s blood run hot.

He slid the knife down, slicing into Malfoy’s robes. The expensive cloth split apart, revealing the pale, scarred chest and the soft, vulnerable flesh of his stomach. Malfoy’s stomach jumped as the blade crossed it.

His pointed face was tight. He was trying so hard not to move, to simply submit.

At a gesture, he sat up a little and sloughed off his ruined robes, to lie back naked and defenceless.

“Now, spread your legs.”


	10. Harry/Draco: March of the Witch Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry helps Draco, for a price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for a meme. You put your phone/iPod/whatever on shuffle, and pick a pairing. You write a ficlet (or whatever) based on the song that comes up, and you only have as long as the song plays to come up with something and write. Ten songs, ten little fics.
> 
> This one was for the unhelpfully short [The March of Witch Hunters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbWIokIOws0).

The witch-hunt had been gaining momentum since Snape’s funeral. Harry Potter gave an eulogy, trying to tell the world who Snape had truly been. Draco’s father spoke after him, mourning for his old friend – until a woman threw a spell.

The Malfoys ran, but they couldn’t find a safehouse.

So Draco went to Potter, dropped to his knees, and opened his mouth.

His persuasion was enough.


	11. George & Theo Nott: St Michael The Archangel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “George wanted to hide from their eyes at Fred’s funeral.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for Sorting Hat Drabbles; the characters were George & Theo and the prompt was _carol of the bells._

George wanted to hide from their eyes at Fred’s funeral.

The church – a Devon church, named for St Michael the Archangel, the leader of the good angels during the war in Heaven – had been the site for many of the funerals of the wizarding world’s war dead. The very stone seemed soaked in sorrow, faces eroded by grief doubled in the shining wood of the pews.

George sat at the front, surrounded by his siblings as they attempted to show support. It was a kind effort, but only served to remind him of how he was now one, alone, forever: he should have been with his twin, as he always was at family gatherings. Their alliance had given them an advantage throughout their rough-and-tumble childhood. Now he was alone. The ragged edges of him, where his other half had been torn away, ached.

The funeral was well-attended; everyone had known who Fred was, and they mourned another fallen hero sincerely. It made George feel sick; when he stood to give the eulogy, the congregation’s eyes drank him in, the living copy of the boy in the coffin.

He couldn’t deal with any more people looking at him and seeing Fred’s face. So afterwards, as his family filed from the graveside to host the wake, George muttered to Ginny that he’d be late. She nodded, face pale under her flaming hair, and they left.

George stood by Fred’s grave for long hours, while the night drew in and the sky turned a bruised purple with the onset of twilight. His eyes ached as he stared down, still and unblinking, at the bare brown earth that covered his brother’s laughing face.

_Scuff._

George’s head went up instantly at the sound of a footstep, his instincts still attuned to war. He turned, eyes straining in the almost-gone light. By a nearby grave, was a tall, slim figure in mourning robes. George looked closer: it was Nott.

He stormed over, black fury replacing his thoughts. “What are you doing here?” he roared, his voice ringing incongruously over the silent graveyard. “This is where we mourn our dead soldiers! You’ve no right to be here, Death Eater!”

Nott stared at him, his deep-set eyes calm. He looked tired, George saw, with eyes searching for flaws. “I’m here to mourn a dead soldier, Weasley. My uncle.”

“A Death Eater!”

“So what? He was family, who died fighting for what he believed in. Maybe he was wrong but that doesn’t make it hurt any less for me that he’s dead.”

George stopped, feeling winded, and stayed still. Nott did the same.

They stood together in the graveyard, staring at the graves, until the morning brought the carol of the bells.


	12. Harry/Draco, OMCs/Draco: He Cries Too, Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds Draco in porn. Content: implied dub-con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for dracoharry100's prompt, "whimper".

Harry had often thought that what made porn great wasn’t the sights. It was the sounds.

His eyes glued to the image before him, Harry swallowed noisily and fumbled with his trousers.

Malfoy whimpered so deliciously when they worked him over. Harry never looked at the men: only at the reactions they pulled from Malfoy as he gagged and rode their cocks and jerked when their hands crashed down on his arse. He imagined himself thumbing the tears from Malfoy’s face as the blond sucked him.

The only thing better could be doing penniless porn star Draco Malfoy for real.


	13. Narcissa & Sirius: The Definition of Civil War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa overheard the Dark Lord’s orders to Regulus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for Sorting Hat Drabbles. The prompt was _can you forgive me?_ and the pairing was Narcissa  & Marauder.

Narcissa overheard Lucius’ conversation with the Dark Lord.

She was coolly aware that the Dark Lord might realise who had told; or worse, think that Lucius had. And Lucius was her husband. She loved him.

But he’d been her husband less than a year. It wasn’t like _this._

Blood called to blood: she proved it, because Sirius came to her without hesitation.

“What?” he said roughly, the moment he’d Apparated in. Narcissa had never expected to see Sirius here; and even now, he didn’t look right in Malfoy Manor’s entrance hall. The aristocratic bearing, the elegant Black lines of his face, were overpowered by the battered robes and the warlike squaring of his shoulders.

The exhaustion in his eyes.

“Regulus is a Death Eater,” she said. Her voice quivered under the attempt at calm like the cracking of thin ice. “He’s been ordered to prove his loyalty.”

It took him a minute to understand. He didn’t want to understand.

“Me?”

“You.” Before she knew what she was doing, she’d flown forward and gripped his hand. The contact with her cousin sent a shock through her, but she didn’t let go. “Sirius, I’ll try to persuade him not to. But he’s easily led, and Bella has already put the Dark Lord above family... You mustn’t face him.”

“He wouldn’t.” Sirius’ voice creaked like rusty metal. His eyes were desolate, as they’d been the last time Narcissa had seen him: the night of the party that ended with his disinheritance. “And anyway,” he said, rallying – the competitive spirit that drove him in Quidditch coming to his aid – “I can beat him!”

“I know,” Narcissa replied quietly. “Please don’t.” She squeezed Sirius’ hand, seeking persuasion through flesh and blood.

“So you’re asking me for him?” Sirius pulled back, and Narcissa swallowed a cry. “He’s your family but I’m not? Like Andy?”

“You left us, Sirius! And so did she! We’re not the ones who decided family didn’t matter!”

“Can you forgive me for leaving you?” The terrible sarcasm in Sirius’ voice was echoed in his flashing eyes. He Disapparated.

Narcissa’s stomach dropped; she collapsed to her knees on the marble floor.

The Blacks had been torn apart; this war would end with them tearing each other apart.


End file.
